The Collection
by Amethyst Jackson
Summary: (Complete) Hermione has an unusual collection. No, I'm not going to tell you more than that. The first chapter is only three pages in word. Just read.
1. Part 1

**Title:** The Collection (1/4)  
**Author:** Amethyst J.  
**Author E-mail:**  
**Category:** Romance  
**Keywords:** Hermione, Harry, collection  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** For all five books...ish  
**Summary:** Hermione has an unusual collection.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Note:** This is the first chapter of a four part-fic. The next chapter will be up almost immediately/already is up, but there will be about a four-week wait for each of the final two chapters because I'm writing this for fanfic t00bs, an organization of writers in which one of us posts a fic every week. Since there are four of us, I post every four weeks…and I can't post –here- until after I've posted –there-. So, if you'd like to get the stories right when they come out, they're posted every Monday at our site, www. livejournal .com / users / fanfic t00bs (take out the spaces and insert an underscore between 'fanfic' and 't00bs'. sorry, ff . net won't let me post the link properly. evil.) . Mine are the ones with 'amethyst j' in the subject line.

The Collection

Hermione had never really been one to collect things, with one exception. Her one, precious collection was kept carefully tucked in a shoebox in the bottom right corner of her trunk. It was a mismatched assortment of objects that held one common denominator, but would seem to have absolutely no significance: a broken quill, an empty inkpot, a twig from a broomtail, a scrap of parchment with hastily scrawled words on it, a book that had nearly been thrown out, an old T-shirt, and other small, miscellaneous items. Anyone looking into the box would have no idea what it was – except, perhaps, for one person – the person all those little items had once belonged to.

She'd been scavenging things from Harry for years. The broken quill and empty inkpot had been the first, abandoned by their owner on a table in the common room. She knew he'd meant to throw them out but had forgotten, and knowing he'd never notice, she'd taken them. That had inspired her to begin saving everything of his that she could possibly get her hands on. At first, she'd meant for it to be a way to look back at everything she'd shared with him, to remember…but it soon became a strange obsession.

The broomtail twig had come from his old Nimbus, and the parchment had been a quick note to her sometime in fourth year. Its contents were dull and insignificant, but the sight of his handwriting made her happy, so she kept it, along with all the other letters and notes he'd sent to her in their years at Hogwarts.

The book was his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. It had become so old and worn that it was falling apart, and he'd tossed it into a trashcan at Grimmauld Place, forced to buy a new one. She'd plucked it out of the bucket once he'd gone, savoring the ownership of an object he'd had so much contact with.

That was when she realized that there was something not right in what she was feeling for Harry. It was beyond mere platonic love or infatuation. It was something deep and intense that she didn't understand and didn't want to; she only knew that it would change everything, and she feared what that would mean.

In her sixth year, she saw him come too close to death for comfort. She watched him lie in a coma for two weeks before he finally opened his eyes, and she was right by his side when he did.

He had been protecting her when it happened, from the Death Eaters who had begun staging brutal attacks against Muggle-borns, and she had understood it then. She would have done anything and everything she could have to keep him from doing so – so that she might have been the one in a coma, and he the one safe and well. She would have done anything to keep him safe.

She'd fallen in love with him.

When he woke up, she was as hysterical as she'd been first year when he'd finally awoken after his battle with Voldemort – she'd been desperate to hold him in some way, to feel him awake and alive and out of danger – but again, she held herself back, settling for grasping his hand and letting tears of relief run down her cheeks.

He wasn't so oblivious that he couldn't tell there was something different about her reaction this time, and he'd squeezed her hand in reassurance. When all of his visitors had finally left, and Ron had gone off to bed, having spent the whole day there, Hermione had stayed behind, needing to communicate something of what she was feeling to him, however inadequate it would inevitably be.

"I was so scared, Harry," she told him, staring intently at their clasped hands. "If you had never woken up, I don't know how I would have managed."

"I know what you mean," he said quietly.

She looked up at him to find him staring back at her. "Well, good…but I don't know what you mean."

"The Department of Mysteries," Harry explained. "When you were injured, I panicked…if it hadn't been for Neville, having the sense to find a pulse..." He cleared his throat, offering a small smile. "Anyway, I was terrified."

Hermione swallowed. "I didn't know."

"Well, you were unconscious, after all," Harry said. "I didn't exactly expect you to."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, well…I'm glad you told me. And I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm sorry I scared you, too." Harry paused. "You're safe, though. That makes it well worth it."

Hermione blinked back tears. "Harry, promise me you won't go risking your life for me again."

"I can't," he said simply.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because, Hermione…it's…it's _you_," he said, looking quite lost for words. "I mean…you're my best friend. I can't just stand there and let you _die_!"

"Well, I can't just let you die, either," she said.

"Then I reckon we have a bit of a problem, don't we?" Harry replied, smiling slightly, and in that moment, she could see in his eyes what she'd been in search of for a very long time now.

She was about to reply, but Harry cut her off. "You should probably go before Madame Pomfrey realizes you're still here. She'll have your head for it."

Hermione nodded and stood. "Get some rest, won't you?"

He nodded, and on a whim, she leaned down and brushed her lips against his scar, not daring to let them linger.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night."

As she headed for the door, she noticed, sitting on a table on the other side of the curtain hiding Harry's bed from view, the clothes he'd been wearing the night the Death Eaters had attacked – T-shirt, jeans, and sitting on the floor, socks and shoes.

She hesitated only long enough to listen to the quiet breathing of sleep – indeed, it was there – before she tiptoed over to the table and grabbed the T-shirt. He would never miss it; it was an ugly, asparagus green, and it had been torn in several places. She would have Ron bring Harry fresh clothes tomorrow and the others would be sent to the laundry. When the shirt went missing, he would just assume it had been thrown away or lost by the House-Elves.

Hermione needed it more than he did anyway. It was very important that she have something to remember this night by - the conversation, the look, what she'd learned. The shirt held some horrible memories, that was true…but it would also preserve forever the moment she'd realized that Harry loved her.

She would be patient and wait for him to tell her in his own time, and if he took too long, she would probably crack and tell him…but until that time, she would have her collection, and the memories would be enough.

To be continued

ETA's (subject to change by a week or so) -

Part 2: October 18, 2004

Part 3: November 15, 2004

Part 4: December 13, 2004


	2. Part 2

Title: The Collection (2/4)

Author: Amethyst

Author E-mail:

Category: Romance, Drama

Keywords: Harry, Hermione, collection

Rating: PG-13 (for things to come)

Spoilers: For all five books, just to be safe

Summary: Hermione has an unusual collection. In this chapter, she also has a plan.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: Yeah…so, this chapter has nothing whatsoever to do with the collection in the first. Never mentions it, actually. But in order to get you from here to the events of chapter four, when it will become very significant again, you must know what happens in between.

Again, this is the second chapter of a four part-fic. There will be about a four-week wait for each of the final two chapters because I'm writing this for fanfict00bs (http:www. /users/ fanfic t00bs (remove spaces and insert underscore between 'fanfic' and 't00bs')), an organization of writers in which one of us posts a fic every week. Since there are four of us, I post every four weeks…and I can't post –here- until after I've posted –there-. So, if you'd like to get the stories right when they come out, they're posted every Monday at the site linked above. Mine are the ones with 'amethystj' in the subject line.

**The Collection******

Hermione had realized in her fourth year that being friends with Harry would mean that she would always be fighting beside him. She had always known that she might die at his side. Sixth year, she learned that there would be a time – the last time – when Harry would face Voldemort and kill him…or possibly be killed, and no matter what the outcome, she knew she would be there with him.

But it wasn't until she'd understood that her friendship with Harry was destined to become something much greater that she'd known _exactly_ what was going to happen to Harry and what part she would play in it.

When she'd spoken with him after he awoke from his coma at the end of their sixth year, she'd been struck with an idea – a brilliant, potentially life-saving idea – and the very next day, filled with determination, she'd embarked upon her mission. Naturally, she'd remained at Harry's bed side all day, regardless of her fervor, but she had done so with a pile of books at her feet, searching frantically for the answers she needed while he slept, and mulling over the information even as she chatted with him in his waking hours.

She spent weeks attempting to decide whether she wanted to tell him about the idea or not. It could be the key – the solution to the equation presented by the prophecy – if it could be done. She had faith in the theory; she was storing all of her hopes in it. But what if _she_ couldn't pull if off? She would certainly be crushed. Would it be fair, then, to put Harry through the emotional turmoil of giving him hope and destroying it in the next instant?

No, it would not be fair; it would be cruel, and so she chose not to tell him, though he'd known automatically that she was up to something. It was easy to fool Ron. He'd come to the conclusion without any assistance on her part that she was getting carried away with her preparation for the NEWTs, and he'd dismissed her constant time in the library as a normal occurrence. Harry, however, was more difficult to satisfy with her usual excuses. It became nearly impossible to allay his suspicions when she began spending more time on the project than she did studying for exams…but luckily, though Harry was more perceptive than Ron at times, he was also more understanding; he only had to be snapped at once before he gave up and let her be.

By Christmas of her seventh year, she had figured it out – at least, she hoped she had – and she presented the idea to Dumbledore.

He looked at her over the rim of his glasses as she explained her plans, and then he smiled.

"I don't think you hear this enough, Miss Granger: you are the brightest witch I've ever met."

She blushed. "You think it will work, then?"

"I think, with faith, it will succeed. Even if I'm wrong, I believe you have the right idea. Now, I think it's time to tell Harry – and I think in this case, sooner would be better than later."

Hermione had a strange feeling that he was talking about more than her plan, but she nodded and left without question.

She would tell him right then and there, she decided. She would take him somewhere isolated and explain the plan as best as she could without giving away too many of her own feelings about it.

She found him in the common room reading yet another book on defensive magic – he'd been doing nothing else in his free time all year.

"Where have you been? Ron went off with Luna, and I was beginning to worry that you were locked up in a broom closet with a Ravenclaw as well."

Hermione forced a smile through her nerves. "No, I had a meeting with Dumbledore, actually."

"Head Girl business?"

"No…something more important."

"More important than Head Girl business?" He raised an eyebrow. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Of course it does," she said impatiently, and he frowned.

"Is something the matter?"

She sighed. "No, nothing's wrong – but I need to talk to you about something. Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere we won't be overheard?"

Harry nodded, shutting his book. "Of course. Room of Requirement?"

"Probably the best place for it," she agreed.

"This thing you need to talk to me about – does it have anything to do with your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"Quite a bit, yes," she said, taking his hand. "Come on. Let's go before Ron gets back."

She led him out of the common room, both oblivious to the curious and, in some cases, knowing stares of their housemates. "Ron can't know about this?"

"He can – but it's important that you understand before we let Ron in on it. He's always taking things out of context – it would be impossible to explain with him around."

Harry looked at her warily. "You're starting to worry me, Hermione."

She looked back at him with an apologetic half-smile as they arrived at the Room of Requirement. "I'm sorry – I'll explain everything as soon as we're inside."

The Room took on the form of a miniature common room, with a soft carpet and tapestries over the walls, but instead of chairs and tables, it provided only a worn, squashy sort of couch in front of a roaring fireplace.

Once they were both seated, Hermione began.

"Remember sixth year, after the attack when you woke from your coma?" He nodded. "Well, that night, an idea came to me – a theory on how to defeat Voldemort."

Harry's eyes widened. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I wanted to be sure it would work before I told you. If it turned out to be some silly, idiotic notion, I didn't want you to be disappointed."

"I don't think you've ever had a silly, idiotic notion, Hermione."

"Nevertheless, I didn't want you to have too much faith in it – not concerning something this huge."

"So that's what you've been working on all this time? This theory?" he questioned.

She nodded. "The theory was that if Voldemort's power lies in hate and evil, then the opposite of that should defeat him, or at least cancel out that power and make him vulnerable. And…there's this philosophy called Taoism that comes from China, and it poses the idea that everything has an extreme opposite – so, if there's dark magic, there also has to be _light magic_. I thought, then, that maybe…if I came up with a spell that was fueled by goodness and love, then that would be light magic, and it could hurt him. Does that make sense?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Right, well…that's what I've been doing. Researching spell creation and looking for spells of a similar nature, and I think – and Dumbledore thinks so, too – that I've created the spell we need."

Harry blinked. "You've created a spell that will kill Voldemort?"

"Well…not exactly. The effects of a spell depend on the purpose with which the spell was created, and the purpose of this spell is to destroy a dark wizard's power. What it will do is search out all of the power that he obtained through evil means, and it should end any spells that are still drawing off his power. For instance, if he had someone under the Imperius Curse at the time we did the spell, it would be broken. And if the spells that prevent him from dying are still drawing off his power, those would be broken, too."

She'd expected to appear pensive or hopeful or relieved or determined – or all of the above – at that moment…but instead, he was frowning at her. "We?"

"What?"

"You said _we_ – 'at the time _we_ did the spell.' But…you can't be a part of it, Hermione."

She probably should have expected that, in hindsight. He'd been overprotective ever since the Death Eaters' attack. "I have to be a part of it, Harry, whether you're okay with that or not. The spell requires two people, and I'm the only person that can do it with you."

"Why?"

"It requires mutual love."

"Mutual love?" he repeated, startled.

Hermione sighed. It would have been a lot easier to explain things if she could just tell him that she was in love with him and knew damned well that he was in love with her – but he was definitely not ready for that. If he knew all that, and there was a possibility Voldemort could know all that, he'd have her locked up in some fortress somewhere with as many protective charms as he could find around it. No, she'd have to do it the hard way if she wanted to earn his cooperation in letting her be involved.

"Yes, mutual love. We've been friends for over six years – and considering all that we've been through together, we have a stronger friendship than anyone else in the world can claim. I think it's safe to say that we love each other at this point, and I know for a fact that I love you more than anyone else in this world does. I'm the best person to do the spell with you, and you know it."

"…What about Ron? He could do it, couldn't he?"

"Harry, the very fact that you'd rather let Ron go into danger with you than me is the very reason why I _have_ to do it. If you used anyone else, it would be drastically weakened."

Hermione waited patiently as he started into the fire for a few minutes, thinking it over. With the flickering fire reflected in his eyes, she could almost see the scattered thoughts running through his mind.

"Maybe it's not worth the risk," he said finally.

"Harry…I understand that you would rather take on Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters single-handedly than let anyone you love be in danger, and the last thing I want to do is worry you more, but I'm going to be right there by your side every time you go into battle, whether you like it or not.

"Remember what you said to me when I asked you not to risk your life for me again?" He was silent, staring down at his hands. "You said that you couldn't just stand there and let me die. And I told you that I couldn't just let you die, either – and staying behind while you went off to fight would be just that. I have to be there to protect you.

"So your choice is this. You can refuse to try my spell in a futile attempt to keep me from going into battle with you, or you can accept that I'm going to be there – spell or no spell – and give it a chance."

Harry looked over at her and, to her surprise, laughed. "You are without a doubt the most stubborn person I know."

"More stubborn than you," she smirked, "and that's saying something."

Harry's smile faded. "All right, then. We'll try your spell – and if you get yourself killed, don't think I won't bring you back to life and kill you again. Got it?"

Hermione snorted. "As if you'd ever be able to figure out _how_ to bring someone back to life without me."

He smiled again, but briefly. "Seriously, Hermione – if anything happens to you – "

She nodded. "I know. And the same goes for you, Potter. After all, I _could_ bring you back to life and kill you again."

Harry nodded solemnly. "Yes, I'm sure you could."

She stood and reached for his hand again. "Let's go back to the common room, and I can explain the details some other day. It's not as though Voldemort would attack on Christmas, after all."

Harry blinked. "He wouldn't? But…wouldn't that be a good time to storm the castle? When there's hardly anyone in it?"

"Are you kidding? When it's this snowy? There would a lot less storming and a lot more trudging, if you ask me."

He smiled. She loved it when he smiled. It erased the worry and fear from his face and turned him into the boy she'd known before the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament – before Voldemort had become a _real_ threat rather than the ghost of dark times. Seeing him smile and knowing that her Harry – her strong, brave, caring Harry – was still there, despite the darkness they'd been struggling through, and would always remain there, comforted her like nothing else could and strengthened her faith in their ability to save the future.

He squeezed her hand, and she couldn't help smiling back at him. Wordlessly, they left the Room of Requirement and with it, their new secret, and traced their footsteps back to the common room.

To be continued

ETA's (subject to change by a week or so) -

Part 3: November 15, 2004

Part 4: December 13, 2004


	3. Part 3

Title: The Collection (3/4)

Author: Amethyst

Author E-mail: AmethystJackson (at) hotmail (dot) com

Category: Romance, Drama

Keywords: Harry, Hermione, collection

Rating: PG-13 (for things to come)

Spoilers: For all five books, just to be safe

Summary: Hermione has an unusual collection. In this chapter, battles are lost and won.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I hope nobody will be bothered to greatly that this chapter is rather...superficially written, mostly because that was the only way I could get it to come out. Unfortunately, I had a thousand ideas for this chapter and only four weeks to write it, so many of my best ideas ended up cut. The next chapter will get into what you've all been waiting for – heartfelt confessions and the collection actually being mentioned again.

This is the third chapter of a four-part fic. There will be about a four-week wait for the final chapter because I'm writing this for fanfict00bs (http:www. livejournal. com/ community/ fanfict00bs/ (just take out the spaces)), an organization of writers in which one of us posts a fic every week. Since there are four of us, I post every four weeks…and I can't post –here- until after I've posted –there-. So, if you'd like to get the stories right when they come out, they're posted every Monday at the site linked above.

Part 3

Hermione spent Christmas her seventh year nearly glued to Harry's side. She had a sense of urgency, a feeling that she had to make the most of every moment with him, and a terrible voice always saying in her head, "These are the last of your carefree days at Hogwarts. This is the end of childhood – this could be the end of live as you've known it."

Though she was nearly mad with apprehension, that Christmas was the best she'd had at Hogwarts. On Christmas Eve she fell asleep on Harry's shoulder, and she woke up the next morning to the nasal concerto of one Ronald Weasley. She was in one of the empty beds in the 7th year room of the boys' dormitory (only she, Harry, and Ron had stayed behind in their year). Harry had carried her upstairs.

Her gifts had turned up at the foot of this bed, whomever's it was. Hermione smiled to herself. She could wake Harry and Ron, and they could open their gifts together. Though they were older and to the point where the excitement of Christmas morning had nearly worn off, revisiting their childhood and sharing Christmas, possibly for the last time, struck her as the perfect thing to do.

She woke Harry, then Ron, and after they got over their annoyance at being woken so early on holiday, they opened their gifts together. Hermione knitted them both scarves and hats; Harry gave her ten skeins of yarn in five different colors.

They spent the rest of the day eating sweets, playing chess and Exploding Snap by the fire, having snowball fights, and eating more sweets. After a small lunch, Ron went off with Luna Lovegood again, and Harry and Hermione went back to the common room together.

"When are we going to tell Ron about the spell?" Harry asked after they'd settled in on the couch in front of the fire.

Hermione frowned. "Not today. We can tell him tomorrow, but not on Christmas. Let's not ruin the evening with it."

Harry nodded, more at the fire than at her. As usual, he was lost in thought.

"Hermione…how are we going to prepare for it? How can we practice the spell?"

She tried to appear confident in her answer, but it was something she'd worried about frequently. "We can't practice the actual spell, but we don't need to. All we need is to be able to master the…the connection it requires, which we can practice easily."

Harry let out a short, nervous sort of chuckle, but she could tell he wasn't comforted. "I'm glad one of us knows what we're doing."

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm scared, too. But we mustn't waste our time worrying. What will come will come – and we'll be _ready_."

Harry smiled. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" she asked, confused.

"Ease my mind when I should be going insane."

"I just know you too well," she said quietly as he continued to look at her, the ghost of his smile still lingering on his face.

It could have been the pivotal moment in their relationship. The way he looked at her in that instant made it almost impossible for her to keep her feelings from him a moment longer. As luck would have it, Ron appeared in the portrait hole at that moment, scowling at them.

"All right, that's it. What's going on between you two?" he demanded. "You were both behaving strangely around each other this morning, and I ignored it, but now I'm positive there's something you're not telling me."

Hermione glanced at Harry, murmuring, "This is why I told you first."

Harry suppressed a smirk as Hermione began to explain.

"We're not…together or anything, if that's what you're thinking – and knowing you, I'm sure it is," Hermione said. "It's just that…I've had an idea, and I felt it would be better to explain it to Harry first."

Ron sat down with them, and Hermione explained everything to him – the initial idea, the research, and the final product.

"Why just the two of you?" he asked when she finished. "Why aren't I a part of this?"

She'd feared he would take it personally. "The energy wouldn't be right, Ron. It has to be Harry and I."

Harry frowned. "Energy?"

Hermione sighed. "The way we feel each other influences the energy we exchange when we do a joint spell. Our feelings for each other are different than the way Ron feels for us or we for him. It wouldn't be balanced."

Ron frowned. "So, you two will go and kill You-Know-Who, and I'll sit back doing nothing, I take it?"

"Of course not," said Harry. "Voldemort's going to try to take over Hogwarts; the Order is nearly sure of it. When he does, we'll go do the spell, and you and the Order and the teachers and members of the DA will all be fighting the Death Eaters. It's not like you'll all be having tea and biscuits while we do the hard part."

Ron nodded, still looking reluctant to accept the idea. "All right. Good luck, I suppose."

They avoided the subject for the rest of the evening.

The next day, Harry and Hermione went to the Room of Requirement and began practicing. Their connection, as Hermione had expected, was easy to make, and within two weeks, they were performing fourth-year level spells together. By March, they'd conquered nearly every spell they'd learned thus far, including ones picked up outside of class. In the meantime, the DA had reconvened with Ron in charge. He reviewed basic defense spells and taught them the more specialized ones he knew.

In April, intelligence came in that Voldemort would attack in May. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and the DA were told, and though the never spoke of it to anyone, the rest school seemed to sense their nervousness. As a result, Hogwarts was filled with a strange tension in the month they spent waiting for the attack.

Voldemort finally made his move two weeks before the NEWTs. They were studying in the common room, attempting to focus, when Dumbledore's voice filled the castle: "Students, please remain in your house dormitories until further notice."

Hermione and Ron both looked to Harry, who had closed his book and taken on the role of the hero again – he was resigned, resolute, and ready to end it.

"That's our cue," he said quietly, but in the dead silence of the common room, everyone heard him. Wordlessly, Harry, Hermione, and Ron went to join the battle, and the DA members followed.

On their way downstairs, students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff joined them, all silent and seeming to understand the magnitude of what they were about to do.

They stopped in the Entrance Hall and organized themselves. Ron and Luna went to the front to lead the others, and Harry and Hermione slipped to the back. The others would clear the way for Harry and Hermione, who would run to the back of the Death Eater's line, where Voldemort would inevitably be.

There was complete chaos on the grounds. The professors barely had the time to notice the students fighting amongst them and had even less time to care.

Hermione ran through the crowds with her hand in Harry's, dodging curses and doing her best to ignore those falling around them, hoping that they were Death Eaters falling and not any of their own.

It seemed like an eternity of running before they spotted him. Harry's hand tightened around hers, and she could feel his fear. "Oh god," she heard him say, "what if it doesn't work?"

"Have faith," she whispered. "Have faith in us – he can't overcome what we have."

They glanced at each other quickly in reassurance before they charged forward, shouting their incantation in unison as they ran. Voldemort didn't see them coming until they were shouting the last two words. He had no time to fight back before they'd raised their joined hands to release the spell.

Hermione found herself in one of those moments when time slows down and one can take note of every little feeling. It was Harry's feelings that she noted in this instance – the sweatiness of his palm against hers, the tension in his arm, his rapid breathing, his typical smell of soap and grass. A surge of energy shot through her. She felt in that second that she could read Harry's mind and heart, as though he'd given himself wholly unto her and she to him.

With a blinding flash of light, the moment ended. Her hand slipped out of Harry's as she fell to the ground, unconscious.

When she woke, she was in the Hospital Wing. Looking to her left, she found Harry sitting in a chair by her bed. He was clutching her hand and staring fixedly at it as if it might suddenly disappear.

"This scene seems oddly familiar," Hermione said quietly. Harry's head snapped up to look at her; he seemed more relieved than she'd ever seen him before.

"I never realized how hard it was to be the conscious one," he joked.

"So what have I missed?"

He pretended to think about his answer. "Well…Ron caught Neville and Lavender making out…"

Hermione blinked. "I was thinking more along the lines of immediately after I passed out, and speaking of, just how long have I been out?"

"A week."

"A week? You've got to be kidding."

Harry shook his head. "The spell worked better than you thought it would. It killed him. Well, more like vaporized him, really. I can't describe what happened…it was just too…well, weird. I realized you'd fainted after that and carried you back."

"And the others? Was everyone all right?"

"Some were hurt, but nobody was killed. The Death Eaters were rather outnumbered, and once they realized their leader was gone, they scattered."

"Do you think he's gone for good?" she asked.

Harry smiled. "Yeah. I think it's finally over now."

Yes, it's finally over – for now. The fourth and final part is yet to come, and I guarantee, it will be better than this piece of –

Aherm. See you December 13.


	4. Part 4

Title: The Collection (4/4)

Author: Amethyst

Author E-mail: AmethystJackson (at) hotmail (dot) com

Category: Romance, Drama

Keywords: Harry, Hermione, collection

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: For all five books, just to be safe

Summary: Hermione has an unusual collection. In this chapter, her collection falls out of its box.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: And so we reach the thrilling conclusion. Thanks for tuning in every four weeks, and I hope this ending satisfies you.

Stay tuned to fanfict00bs ( http:www. livejournal. com/ community/ fanfict00bs ) for more fantabulous fanfiction. There's a wee bit of slash running amok there, but Portkey ships are also a regular occurrence, so pop in every Monday for a nice, relaxing spot of fanfic.

**Part 4**

She never expected him to find her collection. In hindsight, it was silly and unwise to believe she could keep it from him forever, and when it happened, she was completely taken by surprise.

After she'd recovered and they'd taken their NEWTs and decided upon jobs or further education after Hogwarts, she, Harry, and Ron had finally begun discussing living arrangements.

"We should get a house together, or a flat somewhere in London," said Hermione.

Harry nodded his agreement. His smile wasn't quite a grin, but it was wide enough to show his excitement for the life they were about to begin. Ron alone looked inclined to disagree.

"It would be great, but…I've already made plans to move in with Luna."

Hermione gaped. She'd never known Ron to take much of anything seriously, let alone a relationship with a girl.

"That's fantastic, mate," said Harry. "When did this come about?"

Ron shrugged, blushing to the tips of his ears. "We were talking about it a couple weeks ago, and I suggested it."

"I'm happy for you," Hermione said, and she was.

And so, Harry and Hermione decided to rent an apartment in London, near both the Auror training facilities where Harry would be and the small wizarding university Hermione had been accepted to. Their choice marked the transition to this new life. After seven years of being the Trio, they were finally pairing off – Harry and Hermione, Ron with Luna.

Hermione was aware that this development made it inevitable that she and Harry would confess their feelings. She was even prepared to initiate the conversation, after they'd settled into their new home. She might not even bother with words; she might just kiss him, and that would be enough. What she wasn't prepared for or even expecting was that the situation would be almost completely out of her control.

It happened as they were carrying in their belongings. Hermione was unpacking kitchen items when she heard a crash in the living room: breaking glass and papers hitting the floor and Harry cursing. She knew immediately what had happened.

Rushing out into the living room area, she found Harry sprawled out face down on the floor. He'd tripped over a pile of books, which was also strewn across the floor now, and the box which he'd been carrying – the collection – had flown out of his arms, opened, and spilled its contents onto the floor.

She almost panicked. What if he realized what it was, that all of those objects had been his? How would he react, and what would she tell him? How could she explain it to him when she could hardly explain it to herself? But she forced herself to be calm. She went to him and helped him up, fretting over his broken glasses and waving off his apologies. Perhaps he would not even realize the significance of the pile of apparent junk at his feet. Perhaps she could tuck it away back into its box and hide it forever, as planned.

"I'm such a klutz," he mumbled. "Let me pick that up."

"No, no, don't, I'll get it, it's – "

But it was too late. He'd already turned and seen, and she could tell by the look on his face that he'd recognized some of the objects on the floor as his own. He was kneeling before the mess now, picking up the T-shirt. It really was too late, she realized, panicking, and the damage would not be undone.

He didn't say anything as he sifted through her collection. Watching him, she knew he recognized every single object, from the bent, broken quill to the barely intact book to the ragged green T-shirt. Eventually, he turned to look at her.

"All of these things – they were mine," he said.

She tried to speak clearly and confidently, but it came out in a whisper. "Yes. Yes, they were."

Harry stood, the shirt still clutched in his hand. "Why did you take them, Hermione?" It wasn't angry or accusing, merely puzzled.

"I…I don't even know exactly why," she stammered, unable to meet his eyes. "I think I started doing it in a desperate attempt to hold onto you…like no matter what happened to you, as long as I still had something of you, it wouldn't be real, and so I took little things from you that I didn't think you'd miss. And then I realized there was more to it than that."

She risked a look at him. She'd truly expected him to be angry or disgusted or disturbed or at least look at her funny – but he only appeared to be confused…and hopeful.

It was then that she realized she'd greatly underestimated his love. Though she had enough faith in it to depend upon it to be Voldemort's downfall, she'd somehow been convinced that it could not survive him knowing about some strange, inexplicable thing she'd done – as if he wasn't used to her doing strange, inexplicable things. And now, there he stood, her secret in a shambles at his feet, and all he wanted was to hear that it meant she loved him. What a terrible fool she'd been to think it would matter at all.

"What else was there to it, Hermione?" he ventured.

She smiled, no longer afraid. "I was in love with you, of course."

"You…you were?"

"Yes. I wanted to tell you, but the timing wasn't right. I was afraid it would only make things harder and get in the way."

"I never thought you would return my feelings," he said with a look of such disbelief and joy that she was struck with a sharp stab of guilt for having kept her feelings from him. She could have saved him feeling a world of sadness and self-doubt…

"I know," she said quietly.

"I – what?" Harry blinked.

"I know, Harry. I figured out how you felt sixth year…that's why I wanted to tell you so badly. But the timing wasn't right. I could tell you hadn't really come to terms with your feelings yet, and I didn't want to scare you…and then there was the final battle to worry about, and…like I said, I thought it would only get in the way. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner…can you forgive me?"

He'd merely stared while she'd spoken, but when she stopped, he smiled. "There's nothing to forgive, Hermione."

Suddenly she was in his arms and his lips were on hers. She wound her arms around his neck and his tightened possessively around her waist. She smiled against his mouth as joy like she'd never known before welled up inside of her. This, she knew, was where she belonged. She was home.

He pulled away, looking down at her with a grin, and she wondered at how tall he'd become without her really noticing. He'd become a man without her really noticing….

He pulled away even further, and she found herself surprisingly more disappointed than she would have expected to leave his embrace. She quickly forgot about her disappointment, however, as Harry glanced down at the shirt still clutched in his hand. Grinning, he looked back up at her and asked, "So why'd you take my shirt? I might have wanted it."

"It was so torn up…there was no way you could have worn it anymore…I didn't think it would matter," she said defensively.

"It's just…I was wearing it when I first knew I was in love with you," he said with a small, sentimental smile and a blush.

Hermione grinned back at him. "I took it the night _I_ knew you were in love with me."

"When was that?"

"Sixth year, after the attack, when we were talking that night after you woke up."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "You knew _then_? How?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure…It was something about what you said to me and the way you said it…and the look in your eyes. It was different than before."

"God, you know me too well," he said, shaking his head. "I hadn't even come to terms with it yet. I was still struggling with suddenly wanting to kiss you every time you were around."

Hermione laughed. "It's a shame you didn't. We could have put those empty classrooms to better use."

"Mmm, shame we still have unpacking to do. We could put the beds to better use."

"Harry!"

"What?" he said, feigning innocence.

She shook her head, trying to look exasperated with him and probably failing miserably. The trouble was, as she looked him over, she began to agree; they _could_ put the beds to better use…

"Has everything been brought in?" she asked.

"Yes…" he replied, puzzled.

"Come on, then," she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the back of the apartment, stepping over the collection still strewn across the floor.

"…Why? What are we doing?"

"Well, if we're going to sleep tonight, we'll need to have a bedroom to do it in. We need to get sheets on the bed."

"Bedroom? Don't you mean bed_rooms_?"

"No."

Harry stopped and stared at her, eyebrows lost up in his bangs. "Hermione!"

"Well, it was your idea, Harry," Hermione said, laughing.

"Yes...but I never thought I'd hear _you_ suggesting anything of the sort."

Hermione just rolled her eyes and pulled him into the largest bedroom, the one that was supposed to be hers, and shut the door. They didn't completely finish putting the sheets on until the next day.

- Fin


End file.
